


Self-Inflicted Murder (Whumptober 2020)

by Anonymous



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Author Is Sleep Deprived, Aziraphale Has Self-Esteem Issues (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Collars, Crowley Has Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley to the Rescue (Good Omens), Cults, Dehumanization, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gabriel Being an Asshole (Good Omens), Gen, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Hurt, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No beta we fall like Crowley, Non-Graphic Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Crowley, Protective Crowley, Religious Cults, The Author Regrets Everything, Torture, Violence, Whump, Whumptober 2020, lowkey, theres lots of hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:34:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26827429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Whumptober 2020!Nothing in here but some Aziraphale whumps for you to enjoy to your heart’s content.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 98
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Day 1: Shackled

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Welcome to Whumptober. 
> 
> This is my first Good Omens fanfic and my first Whumptober. Please don’t judge me too harshly. 
> 
> This is posted anonymously so I can whump to my heart’s content without judgement. 
> 
> Also yeah, I started Whumptober super late. Don’t judge me, I forgot. And September was a hard month rip. I’m just uploading as fast as as I write. 
> 
> Please enjoy.
> 
>   
> This first story takes place in some ambiguous time period, probably some couple hundred years after the Arrangement was made.
> 
> Day 1: Shackled
> 
> CW: Torture, captivity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's Hang Out Sometime  
> Waking Up Restrained | **Shackes** | Hanging

* * *

It was not uncommon that Aziraphale found himself in unfortunate predicaments.

As Gabriel had explained to him in many more words and littered with saccharine smiles, he was a rather pathetic angel. Remarkably pathetic, in fact, so God had sent him down to be with the humans and keep them out of trouble. Make sure souls went up instead of down, perform a minor miracle here or there to boost attendance in churches, etc. Relatively simple tasks. Ones that even _he_ shouldn’t have been able to mess up.

Yet, here he was, trapped in a summoning circle after dealing with the wrong type of people. If he had known that a simple miracle would have led to this type of outcry, he never would have done it.

And now, he couldn’t.

He wasn’t sure how they had managed to find angelic binding chains. That seemed like something that Upper Management wouldn’t want the humans to have. Yet, the moment he had appeared in the circle they had been clamped around his wrists and completely cut off his miracles.

It was some sort of religious cult, he suspected, as three black-clad humans in robes entered the room. They stood in the shadows, faces obscured by the room’s dim lighting. There had been more people when he had been summoned, but most of them had fled. Now it seemed a few had returned after realizing that Aziraphale hadn’t (and couldn’t) smite them to Kingdom Come.

They were staring at him. Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Um. Hello. I do think there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding-“

“Present us your wings, Angel,” one of them snapped, just the slightest bit of a tremor in her voice.

“What?” Aziraphale asked. Not because he hadn’t heard, but because he was taken aback by the blunt order.

“Your wings,” the leader repeated. “Show us your wings!”

Aziraphale blinked. He tried for a smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. “Oh, I think not. I really don’t-“

To his irritation, he was cut off once again, this time by the leader waspishly snarling at one of her companions, “The book, Micah. Give me the book!”

The one that stood to her right, now identified as Micah, fumbled with a large book that he pulled out of his robe for a brief moment. The book was big and black and the stretch of evil was so strong that Aziraphale visibly recoiled. Where had they gotten _that?_

Emboldened by the angel’s fear, Micah crowed, “Oh? Looks like it knows what’s coming.”

“Shut up,” the leader ordered, skimming over the pages. She stopped. Squinted. Slowly began stumbling through some Latin verses, her voice becoming stronger as she continued to read. Then she stopped.

Aziraphale felt nothing at first. Discomfort, sure, but nothing really substantial. Then, his wrists began to tingle. He glanced down at the manacles. They were glowing.

“Show your wings and it ends!” the leader yelled.

 _What ends?_ was the only thought Aziraphale had before searing pain shot through his whole body, ran through his corporation and his entire essence. A scream ripped from his mouth as he crumpled like a stomped can of pop. It felt like he was being burned, _lit_ by the hottest hellfire. He thrashed on the ground, unable to do anything to douse the flames. He could only scream and scream, and he withdrew his wings, large white feathers flashing into existence.

And, relief. Sweet, blessed relief.

The feeling immediately subsided, leaving Aziraphale a curled-up ball on the ground, chained hands clutching his short curls as his sides heaved. He was shaking, trembling, in the most unangelic manner.

“Damn, Elizabeth,” Micah breathed. ”You’re powerful.”

“You and Greg grab some feathers. Just think what Father Thomas will say when we show him! Genuine angel feathers! We’ll get promoted right away.” Elizabeth, the leader, shuffled forward. Aziraphale could see her face now in the hood. Soft features and light brown hair that just covered her eyebrows.

She was nothing more than a human, despite the pure evil of the book she held. A rather young human.

One part of him wondered what the other angels would think if he had been forced down by mere humans. The other part wondered if she knew what consequences her actions would bring.

“Hopefully he can forgive us for stealing the book…” Micah muttered, coming closer as well, his blue eyes alight with excitement. “Come, Gregory.”

And Gregory was a _child_ , couldn’t be older than sixteen.

Aziraphale drew his wings back, further from the edges of the circle. “Please, I implore you to think about what you’re doing. My name is Azira-“

“Don’t listen to it,” Leah said. “Father Thomas said that creatures like it will say anything to make us listen. Just get the feathers so we can leave.”

Micah entered the circle. Aziraphale let out a shuddered breath as he grabbed his wing, stretching out the white appendage. “My name is Aziraphale,” he continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “I am a Principality, former guardian of the Eastern-“

“Just like plucking a chicken, Gregory.”

There was a hand in his wings, stuck in the underside. He took a deep breath and pointedly ignored it.

“Former guardian of the Eastern gate of- _AH!_ ”

Gregory tore out a handful of feathers and Aziraphale flapped his wings wildly as he cried out in pain. He knocked back the two out of the circle with his flailing appendages. Micah let out a noise of indignation and Gregory a yelp of surprise. He didn’t need to look at the floor to know that a chunk of his lesser coverts were gone.

“How dare you?!” Leah hissed, and Aziraphale’s chains glowed once more.

“My dear, I didn’t hurt them.You’ve taken what you want. Let me go.” His pale blue eyes met Leah’s brown ones. Her expression was furious, scared, closed off. She didn’t say anything as the chains got hotter and hotter, and merely looked away as Aziraphale screamed once more. Except, it didn’t stop.

And they left and it didn’t stop.

At first he just screamed and screamed until his throat was hoarse and cracked and his screams dwindled into whimpers and jerks as black worried the edges of his vision. He needed the blasted chains off! He needed a miracle.

Suddenly, the pain stopped and the circle broke. The chains slipped off his wrists, hitting the ground with a clank. His prayers had been answered. Hopefully not by the other angels.

“Aziraphale?”

“Crowley,” the blond couldn’t keep the relief from his voice as he lifted his head to look from the smudged chalk on the ground to the demon. There he was in all his red-haired glory, clad in one of the black robes of the cult. “Hello.

“I- what are you doing here? I mean I heard they caught an angel, but I didn’t think-“

“That I was that much of a screw-up to get caught?” Aziraphale finished rather bitterly. He didn’t want to get up but he slowly pushed himself to his feet. Everything hurt. Crowley offered a hand. He didn’t take it. Didn’t look to see the hurt flash across the demon’s face. “It was an angel’s trap. There wasn’t much I could do.”

“Screw up? You? Never, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale bristled for a split second at what he perceived as sarcasm. Before he could, the other continued, “I was going to say I didn’t think you’d still be here.”

“They had binding chains. And you. What’re you doing here?”

Crowley shrugged. “Downstairs sent me to check out this place a while ago, spread some evil and whatnot.” He was staring at Aziraphale intently, eyes hidden behind those dark sunglasses. “Are you okay?”

Arrangement be damned. He could hardly bear to think what Head Office would think if they knew he, an ethereal being, had not only been bested by humans, but then had accepted help from a _demon_. “A-Absolutely. I don’t need your help.” He hated the way his voice shook ever-so-slightly. He swayed in place, unsteady. Crowley raised an eyebrow. Feeling scrutinized, Aziraphale drew in his wings, self-conscious. He immediately winced at the action.

“Angel, your wings!” Crowley was darting forward and Aziraphale was moving _back_ , wings flared in an unconscious threat display.

The two beings stared at each other for a moment.

“Don’t touch me,” Aziraphale finally snapped, breaking the silence. Crowley didn’t move other than to clench his fist.

“I’ll kill them,” the demon declared in a low snarl. Aziraphale thought this was a major overreaction to a couple of lost feathers, but he supposed such overreactions were simply the ways of Crowley. He never did things in halves unless he was supposed to be performing temptations and spreading evil.

“Which of those bastards did this?”

Aziraphale just wanted to _leave_. He honestly just wanted to forget the entire ordeal. He didn’t want Crowley’s “sympathy” or to be some sort of excuse for violence. Why did Crowley even care anyway?

“I’m going back to London, Crowley,” he said instead of answering.

“Aziraphale, wait-“

He snapped his fingers, leaving the demon, the circle, his torn out feathers and the chains behind.

(Later, he would receive a shining commendation from Heaven on dismantling a cult and thwarting the demon known as Crowley once more.

Aziraphale pointedly didn’t think about that.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I never finished Whumptober :(


	2. Day 2: Collars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Hands of the Enemy  
> "Pick Who Dies" | **Collars** | Kidnapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine actually going to class when you can just write Aziraphale whump instead.
> 
> Once again, not beta read. Just uploading chapters as fast as I finish them. 
> 
> Hahaha this is lowkey shit
> 
> CW: Mild dehumanization, Gabriel's assholery, electrocution

* * *

“What,” Crowley said, “in Hell’s name is _that?_ ”

Aziraphale fiddled with the fraying hems of his waistcoat for a few seconds as the red-head sauntered over to where he stood behind his counter. Then, feigning ignorance, he responded, “My dear boy, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Crowley looked vaguely insulted. “ _I have no idea what you’re-_ angel, the bloody thing strapped around your neck that is not that hideous tartan bow tie!”

The angel sniffed. “I quite like my bow tie, Crowley.” At the other’s deadpan stare, he swiftly stammered, “A-and this would be um...well, Gabriel gave it to me. On account of my, er...overuse of unauthorized and frivolous miracles.”

“Overuse of unauthorized and frivolous miracles…” Crowley repeated in a drawl, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Aziraphale affirmed, tugged his bow tie, and looked down at the stack of books on the table.

After a beat of silence in which he realized that his companion had no intention of continuing, the demon asked, “And what does it do? Is it just a counting machine or something?”

“Well, Gabriel called it an...education collar. If I use a miracle when I’m not supposed to it-“ he paused, looked around surreptitiously, a flustered flush rising to his face. “ _Shocks_ me.”

Much like a threatened snake, Crowley reared back as he spluttered, “It what?”

“It shocks me,” Aziraphale repeated in a miserable tone, gaze firmly affixed on his books. “It's not that bad. Just a rather unpleasant feeling.”

“I can tell when you’re lying, Aziraphale.”

“I’m not!”

After all, unpleasant was merely an understatement, not a lie. He didn’t really have words to explain the true feeling. For a second, every single muscle in his body would tense simultaneously, his breath torn between catching in his throat and escaping from his mouth in a half-pained, half-surprised yelp. Then he would unclench and all that would be left was a spot of burning, throbbing pain on his neck, directly under the two metal prongs that dug into his flesh. The worst part was that Gabriel had said it was mild now, only increasing with each breach of the rules. Aziraphale feared what moderate or strong would be.

“A shock collar,” Crowley stated, leaning against the counter. The angel didn’t need to look to see the other staring at him over pulled-down sunglasses. There was an undertone of anger in his voice. “You know the humans use those on dogs.”

“Do they? How interesting.” Aziraphale began to busy himself by rummaging through a drawer. New books needed to be added to the catalog.

“You’re not a dog, angel.”

“A very astute observation, Crowley,” the blond retorted dryly. He needed a pen. He snapped his fingers, then immediately (and internally) cursed himself. Electricity coursed through his body and he clenched his teeth lest he let out a noise to express his pure discomfort. The only thing that managed to escape was a strangled groan which he swallowed much too late.

“Angel!” Crowley exclaimed, placing a steadying hand on a tan-covered shoulder. Aziraphale took a moment to compose himself, exhaling slowly. It was indeed getting stronger and it took everything in him to not rub at his neck. He didn’t even want to pull at the collar just in case. The last thing he needed was Gabriel thinking that he was trying to get out of his punishment.

“Yes, dear?” he managed as close to his normal tone as possible.

“Thi _sss_ is _ss_ not okay,” the demon hissed.

“I brought this upon myself, Crowley. It’s really not that bad,” he muttered, shrugging the warm hand off his shoulder as he returned to looking through his desk. Ah, there was his pen. Tucked away in the back of the drawer.

“Oh really?”

Crowley snapped his fingers and Aziraphale distinctly flinched. His hands flew to the prongs of the collar, desperately tugging them away from his neck before he realized that nothing was going to happen because it wasn’t even him who had snapped.

Lord, he didn’t even have to look to _know_ Crowley was staring at him with barely restrained fury.

“How many times has it been?” the demon asked in a quiet voice that was brimming with pure anger.

“Crowley…”

“How many times _ss_?”

“Why does it matter?” Aziraphale asked, finally glancing at his companion. He was rather worked up over all this, wasn’t he?

“So I can know how many of Gabriel’s feathers to rip from his bloody wankwings.”

“You’re ridiculous,” the blond scoffed with a shake of his head. Crowley sounded serious, but he knew it had to be a joke. Nobody would ever stand up to Gabriel or any of the other Archangels. Especially not for him. “He would smite you.”

“Not if I smited him first.”

“ _Smote_ , darling. And you’re a demon. You don’t smite.”

Crowley grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like we’ll see about that. A silence fell between the pair and for one blessed moment, Azirphale thought that they were going to stop talking about it.

Then: “Can’t you just take it off?”

“Can we discuss _anything_ else?” the angel asked rather waspishly.

“Yeah, yeah, I mean.” Crowley made a vague motion with his hands. “I was just wondering. Will they know?”

“Considering that would require a miracle, yes,” Aziraphale snapped.

Another small pause. Crowley had something to say but wasn’t saying it. Aziraphale wasn’t going to press him.

“What if I did it for you?” were the last words that he expected to come out of the demon’s mouth. His heart involuntarily doubled in speed as he stared at the other with a mix of awe and surprise.

“I...you’d really do that?” he asked in a hushed voice, eyes wide. He hated just how excited he sounded at the prospect.

“Yeah, angel. And Gabriel would never know. I’d just miracle it back on after however long you’re supposed to have it on and viola, punishment served with minimal pain.”

And Gabriel would never know. He felt like a weight had been lifted off his back. The demeaning object would be tossed elsewhere and forgotten about for the next month and he would be able to breathe properly once more. Granted, not that he needed to breathe. It was just a comfort that Gabriel clearly thought that he didn’t need, judging by how tightly he had strapped it on before miracling the clasp out of existence.

“You’re too good to me,” the angel murmured.

“Am I good or are they just terrible?”

Aziraphale didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.


	3. Day 3: Manhandled | Forced to Their Knees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My Way or the Highway  
>  **Manhandled** | **Forced to Their Knees** | Held at Gunpoint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I'm writing fast enough rip. I feel so out of practice at writing whump.
> 
> CW: Gabriel's assholery, violence, humiliation

* * *

Gabriel was in one of his moods. This was not uncommon for a Thursday morning after a round of meetings with a bunch of younger angels that Gabriel could barely tolerate and the Archangels. Michael had gone a full twelve minutes over and the recorder had messed up the transcript and overall Gabriel couldn’t help but be pretty irritated with this day. Every angel knew not to bother him on this particular day.

Well, every angel except for Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was blissfully unaware. For him, it had been a very good Thursday morning in which he dined with Crowley before finishing up his reports for Upstairs. He hummed a jaunty tune as he made his way up the escalator, stopping at the front desk to briefly check-in.

“Hello, my dear!” he cheerfully greeted the angel at the desk. Their nametag read Adriel. “I’m supposed to turn in these reports in to the Archangel Gabriel. Is he available right now or should I leave them with you?”

Adriel, on the other hand, was not blissfully unaware of Gabriel’s temper. They knew that if they offered to take the report, they would be putting themself in danger’s way. Well, Gabriel’s way. Meanwhile, this angel— Aziraphale as the schedule read— came up no less than twice every three months, and judging by his sunny disposition he had no idea about Thursdays.

Adriel gave Aziraphale a bright smile. “He’s available. You know where his office is, right?”

“Certainly! Thank you very much, Adriel.”

“My pleasure,” Adriel responded, smile still in place as they watched that poor, unsuspecting Principality walk right into the lion’s den.

Aziraphale knocked on the door to Gabriel’s office, rocking back on his heels to be let in. A few angels passed him and gave him odd looks, but he thought nothing of it. He was likely an unfamiliar angel to them, considering he was stationed on Earth most of the time.

“Come in,” said Gabriel, and Aziraphale entered only to stop short at the frosty chill in the air. Gabriel was seated behind his desk, Sandalphon stood next to him. Perhaps the two had been in conversation before Aziraphale had knocked, but now they were quiet.

“Ah, Aziraphale,” the purple-eyed angel smiled. It wasn’t a particularly nice smile. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, uh. If you’re busy I can come back later?”

“No, no. Since you’ve already interrupted Sandalphon and me, do continue.” There was that smile again.

Aziraphale winced a little, fiddling with the ring on his finger before collecting his thoughts and approaching Gabriel’s desk. “I just wanted to submit my reports for the past months.” He placed the folder on his superior’s desk.

At this point, Gabriel would usually say something like _good work, you’re dismissed._ This time, he didn’t. He opened the folder and began reading.

Something was seriously wrong here.

The blond angel began to feel rather nervous, something akin to perspiration collecting along the back of his neck despite the coldness of the room. He couldn’t leave until he was dismissed. He cleared his throat and piped up, “Dreadfully sorry to interrupt, but am I dismissed?”

“Did I say you were dismissed? Didn’t think so, sunshine.”

So, he continued to stand there, fidgeting more and more as the seconds passed. He didn’t like the way Sandalphon was staring at him.

“Hey Sandalphon, come read this.”

Sandalphon made his way behind Gabriel’s desk, taking the proffered piece of paper from his colleague. He smiled a little. “Oh, that’s quite funny,” he said, and Gabriel nodded, a few chuckles spilling from his mouth.

Sandalphon laughed too. Gabriel laughed harder. Aziraphale let out a singular, very uneasy _, ha._

Gabriel immediately stopped laughing, face going blank. It was like he had never felt anything in the first place.

“Aziraphale, I cannot believe you had the audacity to come in here and hand me this absolute garbage!” his boss snapped.

“W-what?” It had been the same format as the rest of his reports. The content had been fairly similar too. Gabriel had just been laughing!

“You heard me. This-“ he pointed to the report “-is absolute garbage.” He ripped it. A week's worth of painstaking cursive shredded in a second. “And I honestly don’t know what to tell you except that you’re a complete and total idiot who just wasted my time if you expect me to accept that.”

“I’m sorry?” Aziraphale sputtered, taking a small step back. Surely he was misunderstanding, his ears were deceiving him.

They were not.

“As you should be,” Gabriel snapped. “Leave. I expect a new one tomorrow.”

“B-but...that’s not fair!” the Principality protested. “It took me a week-“

“And it’ll take you a day to rewrite it. Shoo before I give you something to actually be upset about.”

Aziraphale wavered, unsure what to do. Gabriel returned his attention to some other work on his desk, handing another sheet to Sandalphon before circling something. He had lost interest in Aziraphale or was at least feigning it. On one hand, that had been an obvious dismissal. On the other hand, there was no way he was leaving without at least getting an extension for his work.

“Gabriel-“

“ _Ugh,_ you’re still here? You’re beginning to irk me, Aziraphale.”

“Gabriel,” the shorter angel started once more just to be cut off with an almighty sigh of exasperation.

“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” the Archangel mused before his door clicked closed. Gabriel stood, stretched, and perched himself on the edge of the front of his desk. “Come here.”

Aziraphale looked at the locked door. He looked at Sandalphon. He looked at Gabriel. “I'd rather not,” he said, unmoving.

“Sandalphon?”

The balding angel didn’t say a word as he approached Aziraphale, merely clamping a hand on the back of the blond angel’s neck. Sandalphon was strong, much stronger than he looked. The bookseller’s shoes squeaked against the floor as he briefly resisted, but ultimately he was left with no choice but to move after all.

Gabriel was in front of him, Sandaphon was behind, and maybe he should have just taken the dismissal while he could have.

“You’ve been talking back a bit too much today, sunshine.”

Aziraphale felt extremely, extremely uneasy now. What was he to say to that? “I-“

“Shut up,” Gabriel snarled, raised his hand, and slapped him.

Aziraphale would have staggered back if not for the other angel standing behind him, preventing him from any sort of escape. His hand flew to his face, pressed against his stinging cheek. He stared at Gabriel with wide blue eyes. Gabriel’s intense purple bored back into his.

“You’ve been disrespecting me from the moment you entered my office, Principality. Have you forgotten your place? Have you forgotten how things work up here? Let me fucking remind you.”

“G-Gabriel, please, there’s no need for this…” pleaded Aziraphale before swiftly deciding that silence was the best route as his superior viciously backhanded him.

A sudden blow to the back of his legs made him crumple, biting back a grunt as lightning-hot pain traveled up from his weak knee. It was much too often that he forgot about his old wound there, but Heaven never let him forget. He could never forget.

“You’re beneath me,” Gabriel uttered coldly to a now-kneeling Aziraphale. Sandalphon shoved him from behind and the blond had no choice but to throw out his arms to catch himself before he could faceplant. A foot landed on his back and he trembled as he allowed his head to be forced down. He was being forced to bow to Gabriel. Humiliating. “You’re nothing but a failure of a Principality who couldn’t even guard a single gate and I am an Archangel. You’re pathetic, Aziraphale.”

Sandalphon’s foot slammed into his side and Aziraphale wheezed, nodding rapidly in agreement even as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

“You can speak.”

The downed angel was silent for a moment, a decision that gifted him another kick to the gut. Did his ribs crunch? He hoped not. “R-right,” he stammered, eyes firmly focused on the white floor, white tiles. There was a smear of gold on the floor. Blood. His blood? Was he bleeding? His nose. The backhand must have been stronger than he thought.

“I am so sorry for the disrespect I have shown you as my superior, Gabriel, sir. I apologize for my subpar work and thank you for the additional time that I don’t deserve to fix it.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth. Sour. He muttered them as sincerely as possible because he knew that was what Gabriel wanted. “Please forgive me.”

All the cold anger sapped from the room. He could hear the dark-haired angel’s smile in his voice. Aziraphale let out a quiet sigh of relief. At least he had done something right. “Of course, sunshine. We all make mistakes. Some of us more than others. Get me that report by tomorrow and I won’t put a reprimand on your record, yeah?”

“I understand. It’ll be done.”

“I knew you were being lazy earlier!” Gabriel said, and that stung. “Sandalphon, help the Principality up.”

Once again, Aziraphale was grabbed by the neck and unceremoniously hauled by the other angel, who gave him a large, gold-toothed grin as if he hadn’t just forced the other down.

“T-thank you,” the blond stammered anyway, wobbling a bit as he resisted the urge to grab his aching knee.

“No problem!” Gabriel cheered, returning to his seat behind his desk. “Now really do leave. You’ve wasted enough of our time.”

“R-right. Thank you,” Aziraphale repeated, feeling rather dazed, and staggered out of his boss’s office.

As he passed the front desk, Adriel handed him a tissue. It turned out his nose was indeed bleeding.


	4. Day 4: Caged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Running Out of Time  
>  **Caged** | Buried Alive | Collapsed Building

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only...14 days late.
> 
> I've had a rough past two weeks but I'm hoping to get back into the swing of things.
> 
> CW:  
> Non-consensual drug use, implied/referenced rape, imprisonment, vague dehumanization, injury...
> 
> Think I got them all

Angels were creatures of habit. Apparently, they liked something about routines and order and even more routines. Aziraphale was no exception to this. Which was why when Crowley rolled up to the bookstore at precisely 11:25 in the morning to take Aziraphale out for lunch and the angel wasn’t there, he was rather alarmed.

The last time that the angel had disappeared had been when his store had been burning, right before the Apocalypse didn’t take place. Aziraphale didn’t just disappear from his store. It was like the child he never had.

So naturally, it was only expected that Crowley would begin to be very suspicious, his fear only escalated by the complete disarray of the inside of the store. There were books on the ground as if precariously thrown aside or swept off of surfaces. The carpet was skewed, half revealing the chalk circle, though it appeared that the circle hadn’t been powered up recently. There were feathers, white feathers. Angel feathers, on the ground. There had been a struggle and somehow Aziraphale hadn’t made it out.

There was no blood, so he hadn't been discorporated, at least. Small mercies from somewhere. If Aziraphale had been discorporated, Crowley doubted that Heaven would allow him to come back.

The demon flicked out a forked tongue, tasting the air around him. Distress and confusion with a hint of anger. Humans that smelled of gasoline and blood.

Crowley took a step further into the store. Something glass crunched underneath his snakeskin boots. He bent down to examine the object, pulling down his sunglasses to get a better view. Needle. With probably enough tranquilizer to bring down an elephant.

He could see it now.

It’s late at night. A group of humans break into the store. Aziraphale attempts to play nice with them. They stab him. They attack him. He tries to fight back without hurting until he can’t. He plans to flee, perhaps. He draws out his wings in preparation, then…?

Crowley growled, standing back to his full height. Well, the specific details weren’t important. The point was that they had taken Aziraphale, whatever had happened. They had taken his angel, his best friend and partner for the past 6000 years. And he was not going to stand for that.

Granted, finding the angel was more difficult than he had originally anticipated. It turned out that quite a few humans smelled like gasoline and blood and when he had tried to track the trail himself the scent had been lost rather quickly.

Typically, he found Aziraphale by simply tracking his essence. It wasn’t difficult, since the angel gave off a holy signature at all times. He encountered a small problem this time.

It wasn’t as if Aziraphale’s signature wasn’t there. It was just weak. Very weak. Crowley couldn’t exactly pinpoint it as much as he knew a general area where the being was. Unfortunately, the lack of specifics meant more concentration and higher risks attempting to teleport himself directly to the angel.

It was no matter. He would find Aziraphale and he would wreak havoc on the humans who dared to take him.

* * *

Blue eyes sluggishly and wearily glanced upward at the sound of approaching footsteps. He didn’t know how long he had been here for, having lost count of the hours some time ago. He didn’t truly know where here was. He just knew there were many Americans and they had done something terrible to his corporation. He wasn’t sure exactly what. Some cocktail in some needle that he thought would never have affected him, but now he wasn’t so sure. Even if he didn’t need food or to breathe, corporation could get injured, could experience rather human feelings and sensations. He could be discorporated. He supposed it made sense he could be drugged.

The American standing before him was talking about him, he thought. Never to him, always about him. His first captors, the ones who had gotten the jump on him in his bookstore, had warned them about him. He’d been unable to perform a miracle at the time but had almost persuaded one of them to let him go. Then there had been a resounding bang and a scream of pain when his would-be liberator was shot in the shoulder. His first captors had gagged him then. A heavy, metallic thing that wrapped around his mouth. More of a muzzle than a gag. He hadn’t been able to speak since.

Miracles were still out of the question. He hadn’t been able to feel his hands since they had been cuffed behind his back. It was alarming when he felt his feathers brush his hands and he perceived absolutely nothing. Then again, maybe he had lost feeling in his wings instead. Chains had been wrapped around his once-white appendages, staining them with dirt and grime. Despite the pain that they sent racing down his back and shoulders at the slightest movement, they were forced to stay spread by the chain’s placement around bars on the opposing side.

Well, as spread as they could be in the environment: a small, cramped crate that Aziraphale had to crouch in to fit. The only reason why his curl didn’t brush the bars on top was on account of the fact his neck and head were perpetually being dragged down by a heavy collar with a chain anchored to the cage ground. It was the equivalent of a tether and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t free his neck from that awful, bent, position.

The only time he was free was when he heard the click of his crate open, the bonds around his wings loosened, and he was dragged into the other room by the Americans. Which was what was currently happening.

He’d used to try to fight it, wings flapping as he tried to swat the humans away. They’d beat him for it. He’d stopped now.

Escape was impossible without Divine Intervention and the probability of that after his failed execution was zero. He wondered about Occult Intervention. More specifically, Crowley. He was positive (maybe, potentially, perhaps) that the demon would come for him, but what if that ended up with them both captured? It was not an option, not a possibility. So, he’d dampened his signal a bit. Crowley didn’t need to get hurt trying to rescue him. He would rescue himself (somehow, eventually, likely not, he was going to discorporate here).

Table. Cold metal against bare skin. He was naked. Aziraphale had never had a problem with nudity. It was humans who had made it weird. Nakedness was a precursor to intimacy at best. At worse, it was this. This cold, detached prodding and poking with needles and latex gloves and rulers as the humans began to measure every single thing about him just as they had done in the days before. A hand slid between his legs and he winced out of reflex before remembering he hadn’t made an Effort. He hadn’t since the first day when they had…committed unspeakable acts to his person. The thought still made him feel sick.

Feeling a little fuzzy around the edges, the angel looked around. There was no tether on the table. All he could see was white. White floors, white ceilings, white lights, white coats.

It reminded him of Heaven.

He put his head back down and closed his eyes and didn’t open them again until he was back in the dark room of the cage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1/2. Will be finished up in Day 5: Rescue.


	5. Day 5: Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Do You Think You're Going?  
> On The Run | Failed Escape | **Rescue**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like this chapter very much. Hope you all will enjoy it more than I do.
> 
> CW:  
> Vague dehumanization, injury

“Where’d you put him, Marlow?”

Franklin Marlow started. He whipped around, brown eyes darting around his apartment bedroom. It was dark, as to be expected. He saw no one. Chalking it up to nothing more than an odd gust of wind or wall creak, the man closed his eyes and went back to trying to sleep.

He heard a low hiss, like a snake. It sounded like a threat. He opened his eyes again and promptly pissed himself.

Crowley would have laughed if he hadn’t been so furious, forked tongue flicking the air as he looked over the human. He was only going to ask once more.

“Where’d you put him?”

“W-who?” Franklin stammered, pure terror in his voice. He wanted to beg for his life. The only thing keeping him from doing so was the fact that this monster was asking him questions and he was sure that if he didn’t answer, he would have no life to beg for.

“Aziraphale. <i>The angel.</i>”

Oh god. They had captured an angel. He’d suspected, but he hadn’t known for sure. It was easier to ignore those kinds of things. It was just a job, after all. Anomaly containment, sell to the highest offer. In this case, some shady, American-owned government organization.

“I-“ he squeaked. “W-we sold him. To a bunch of Americans.”

“You sold him?” Crowley echoed, fury pouring from every single inch of his being. It was bad enough that they were kidnapping his angel, and now they were selling him like he was nothing more than some sort of exotic pet? With an almighty hiss, he leapt upon the human. He would extract the memory of the address and he would make it painful. And when he was done, there would be an unfortunate incident with some gasoline and a cigarette.

* * *

He traveled through the phone lines straight into the place: a fenced-in military zone with cameras as far as the eyes could see. As much as he wanted to slaughter every human who dared hurt Aziraphale, he knew that the angel wouldn’t agree with that. So, it was stealth mode. He would use restraint until he couldn’t anymore. Now that he was here, he could sense his angel and he wasn’t going to waste any more time.

Those who encountered him swiftly forgot about him. They would have bad luck for the next 6 years of their lives.

Following Aziraphale’s signature, he entered the room titled Conference Room C. He didn’t need to turn on the lights. Regardless, he froze. This was not a conference room. It could only be described as a kennel, really. Cages were stacked on the wall, most of them empty. Maybe they had been occupied at some point, but whoever or whatever had been in them was long gone. It stunk of fear, old scents renewed by a fresh one.

There was something huddled in one of the cages against the wall. Crowley felt a sinking stomach in his gut as he approached.

And he stood there for a moment. Large wings, one crooked and mangled, forced open by chains. Hands restrained by heavy cuffs. Bare body curled downward, a dark, metal collar with a chain embedded into the floor of the too-small crate.

Aziraphale didn’t move. He was still except for the few slow, shuddery breaths he took. He didn’t look up. He gave no indication of being aware of the demon’s presence.

“Angel,” Crowley croaked.

Aziraphale twitched.

Crowley was rushing to open the door in a second, miracling the chains off the angel. He pulled his friend out of the cage. It was only then that he saw the muzzle. The demon deeply considered his anti-murder promise. He ripped the hunk of metal off with a snarl. Pale blue eyes finally flickered to him, settled past him, then dropped close. The angel was drugged to the gills.

A quick snap of fingers had them back to the bed that Aziraphale didn’t use, a second had the drugs dispelling themselves from his friend’s system, and a third had a gas leaking from the pipes in the American base.

Aziraphale groaned quietly, drawing his wings closer as if in order to hide his body. A stifled bark of pain emerged from his mouth.

Crowley hovered over the angel’s form, uncertain of what to do. Aziraphale's wings needed healing, but he couldn’t heal. The broken one would need to be splinted, at least. He laid a hand on the other’s shoulder just to swiftly remove it at the flinch.

Right. Probably not the best idea.

He would keep himself busy getting Aziraphale some clothing. He hadn’t thought to recover his angel's clothes. They had probably been destroyed, carelessly burned away by the first group that had captured him. Those were Aziraphale’s favorites.

“C-Crow-”

The red-head turned around to glance at Aziraphale. He looked slightly better now, at least. His eyes were a bit clearer, skin was less ashen, but his mouth was drawn into a grimace, expression twisted.

“Shh, Aziraphale, angel-“

“‘M sorry. Didn’t have to come.”

“For Someone’s sake, I wasn't going to just leave you with those humans and their poking and prodding and Hell knows what else.”

“Dangerous,” Aziraphale simply retorted, a slightly irked expression on his face. Crowley was more concerned by his lack of words. The collar must have been a large strain on his throat if he wasn’t even willing to try talking in his usual prim and proper manner.

“And that’s why I didn’t leave you. You were only there for three days and look at what they did to your bloody wings!”

He hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but Aziraphale flinched back either way and Crowley cursed himself.

“Look, angel, all I’m saying is that there will never be a time where you need help and I won’t be there. Whatever trouble you’re in, I’m sure I can handle it.” Aziraphale made an affronted face. Crowley quickly added, “Er...and vice versa. You can handle my trouble too.” He was making a mess of things. Best to wrap it up. “Point is, doesn’t hurt to have someone looking out for you. We help each other.”

The angel was studying him with an expression clearer than before. Trust, yet underlying guilt and humiliation. He didn’t want Crowley to see him vulnerable, even after their years together, even after fighting Heaven and Hell together. Blue eyes looked away.

Crowley understood. It hurt a little, but he understood.

“It’s okay,” he muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He didn’t know when he had taken off his sunglasses but now his face was burning and he wished he had them. “I’ll, um, be back soon, angel.” He made it two steps before something tugged on his jacket.

“Our side,” Aziraphale said with a small, anxiety-filled nod.

Crowley couldn’t help the sardonic smile that teased at the edges of his lips. “Our side.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Comments and kudos are not mandatory, but they make me very happy
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> \- Garf


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